A few weeks ago, my friends took me out and tried to convince me to talk to girls at bars, partly for my own good, but partly for their own entertainment. Here’s one of the debacles from that night.

We’re at a bar in the Bottom when I see a tremendously pretty-eyed girl (TPEG) sitting at a booth with like 4 other girls. The girl sitting next to her decides to go to the bathroom, leaving an empty seat next to TPEG. My friends have figured out what I’m so interested in, and they nudge me over in that direction. This only works because I’ve had beer.

I walk over and sit down. Out-of-place doesn’t begin to describe how I feel, and I’m sure it’s obvious. “Hey, uh, um, excuse me, but, what’s your name?” Now seriously, give me credit – that’s not as bad as it could have been.

Except I must have mumbled. “What?” she says. The other girls at the table look at me like I’m asking for help to get back to 1985. I decide to ignore them for the same reasons that cause mountain climbers to not look down.

Eventually we straighten out the name situation so that I no longer have to internally refer to her as an acronym. (I did not shake hands: I’m not that awkward. There are limits.) It’s time for me to say something remotely intelligent to justify my occupation of their booth.

“Listen, uh, the thing is, you have, um, really pretty eyes.” Oh god. I am that awkward. It’s awful. Run. “Uh, I noticed that from across the bar, and I just wanted to come over and say that. That’s all. Bye.”

So sure, my friends did convince me to go back over there and ask if she had a boyfriend, which, duh. But even so, my panic-button-finger was a little itchy that night.

Sorry for the slightly dated Awkward Thing today, but I spent all weekend with family and didn’t go out at all. I have plans later this week though, so stay tuned!